


The Drughar

by pr_squared



Series: Tales of the Hunt [6]
Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Cannibalism, F/M, Snuff, Woman on Top, meat paradox
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28029105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pr_squared/pseuds/pr_squared
Series: Tales of the Hunt [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1970527
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

Brad peered ahead in the dim light. Naked, he shivered in the cold. He saw his friend Tim standing in front of him and then Zack, but only vague shapes in front of Zack. Mike stood behind him. The constricting walls of the narrow corridor seemed to press in on him. Mike stood behind him and behind Mike stretched a long line of others, indistinct in the dim light. No one moved.

A siren sounded, marking the end of break. Unseen machinery whirred into action.

Suddenly, a shove from behind propelled him bodily into Tim. Their naked bodies collided, bare skin on bare skin. Brad regained his balance awkwardly. Physical contact with another naked male made Brad distinctly uncomfortable. At the feedlot, he had learned to tolerate the proximity many naked males but each had zealously guarded his private space. Brad looked back at Mike. Mike had fallen to the floor and struggled gamely to his feet before he was trampled.

Zack stood directly in front of Tim in the queue. Pressed from behind, he took a single, reluctant step forward. First nothing, then he heard a whooshing sound. The opaque panel of a revolving door swept him forward and he disappeared.

Brad and Tim were terrified and tried desperately to stop their forward progress but the overwhelming press of those behind pushed them relentlessly forward, step by inexorable step. The door revolved and Tim disappeared, a long pause and then Brad followed.

Brad stood in absolute darkness for a long moment. Then abruptly the door revolved and slammed him stumbling forward into blinding light. The illumination was so bright as to be painful. He closed his eyes tightly.

His left wrist was grabbed by the rough, horny hand of one monster Drughar; his right wrist by a second. Deftly, they secured his wrists behind his back. Human strength, even male human strength was no match for a mighty Drughar. Strong hands pushed him forward onto a low table. He fell with a dull thud. Wrists bound, he had no means to break his fall. Strong hands now secured his ankles.

Then he felt a softer hand turn his head and pull down the ear where his serial number had been tattooed.

A human hand slapped his bare ass. Take him away,” a distinctly human voice called, quite different from the Drughar’s rumbling bass.

Strong hands lifted him from the table hung him head down unceremoniously from a hook on a moving belt. The belt jerked forward and carried him past two curtains and into a pitch black antechamber.

"Hey, Brad,” Tim called out tentatively. “Is that you? Zack, you okay?”

“Yep,” Brad answered. “You okay?” He struggled hopelessly against his strong restraints.

Tim nodded agreement – unseen in the total darkness - and unheard. The belt jerked noisily forward again.

“Hey, guys – who’s here?” Mike called out.

“I’m here,” Brad called. “Where’s Tim? Tim?”

Tim said nothing.

“Well, Tim was here too a second ago”


	2. Chapter 2

Ava adjusted her dark glasses against the blinding light. Even the Drughar, oblivious to most physical discomfort, wore dark goggles. She watched the next boy stumble forward. He was a mature male, fully eighteen years of age, and not really a “boy,” she reminded herself. Reformers from People for the Ethical Treatment of Males or PET’M had affected some changes. He was a mature male – and not a ‘man’ because the word man had passed largely from common use, except for history of literature courses.

The powerful Drughars, Gizzidu and Lugul, effortlessly restrained his wrists and threw the hapless creature forward. The Drughar were strong, well beyond puny human strenght. Ava had seen Gizzidu crush a coconut like she might squeeze an orange. The boy landed on the sturdy table with a thud. Stunned, he did nothing while they bound his ankles with practiced efficiency. 

As gently as she could, Ava laid her hand on his warm cheek and turned this head to inspect his ear and check his serial number against her list. He was rather cute, she had to admit. They’re products, not people, she reminded herself. Immature males – joeys – are even cuter but then testosterone poisoning inevitably takes its toll. Remember what you learned in school, she told herself. Scientist had proven conclusively that males don’t feel pain like real people.

The number checked and she slapped his ass to signal that the Drughar might continue. His skin bore the well-healed brand of the ranch where he had been raised. Single-handed Gizzidu lifted him and hung him head down from the moving belt as easily she might lift a child. 

His male paraphernalia flopped limply between his muscular thighs. Once, Ava had learned, a male might intimidate a dozen adult women simply by threatening to expose his apparatus. That time was safely in the past but even she had been taken back by this blatant display of unfamiliar maleness. This exposed vulnerable flesh had once been the foundation of male pride and privilege. The Drughar laughed her timidity.

“Touch him,” Lugul had rumbled gleefully in his Drughar bass, manipulating the male’s floppy parts with his large, horny hand. The hairy ball sac tickled Ava’s hand.

The belt jerked forward and the male disappeared behind an opaque curtain.

“So long, meat-boy,” she mouthed after him silently and waited for the next. Lunch wasn’t too far and Ava would see her friends, Emily, Megan, and Olivia.


	3. Chapter 3

The hapless youth saw the hideous Drughar and thrashed violently. He had known no intentional cruelty and suffered no such abject terror in his eighteen years. Today was different. Hanging by his ankles, head down, and wrists tied behind his back, he had no chance to escape the wickedly sharp blade and alter his pre-ordained fate.

Ghorek took a step back and watched him struggle, half amused. The large, brawny Drughar dwarfed the youth, himself well built by human standards. The youth screamed his hopeless protests. Ghorek placed his bloodstained hands on his bloodstained apron and rested a moment. A half smile escaped his solemn face and then with a sigh, he picked a piece of green leafy something from breakfast from between his large, coarse teeth, careful to avoid the knife’s wickedly sharp blade, and then he set himself back to work. “Easy boy,” he rumbled as he grabbed a firm hold of the youth’s dark hair. “Don’t make this any harder on yourself than needs be,” he continued or any harder on me, he thought to himself.

His re-assuring words made little difference. The youth shrieked and thrashed about wildly, but he could neither affect the tough restraints that bound him nor overcome the massive strength of Ghorek’s powerful left arm as Ghorek pulled back his head and exposed the his throat. The average human male is half again as large and has twice the upper body strength of the human female. The smallest of the Drughar were half again as large as the largest human male with greater strength to match. Muscles stood out in thick cords on the youth’s neck, but mere human strength was no match for the Drughar. In an instant, Ghorek drew his blade across the nakedly bared throat and cleanly opened the great vessels. Ghorek quickly turned the body to avoid most of the spray of arterial blood. Thick red blood gushed from the wound and poured over the youth’s head and hair. His struggles swiftly faded into a few agonal shudders and jerks. Ghorek was good at what he did and he had had years of practice. He turned to the next boy.

Krumm looked away. At the beginning, we had stunned them first, he recalled, but our upstairs bosses whined that it was unnecessary and spoiled the flavor. They might just come downstairs, he concluded for the fourth or fifth time that morning. Krumm pressed on the wound to speed the bleeding. Next, he yanked hard on the youth’s sex and eliciting no response, he lowered the boy into the tank of boiling water. He hardly twitched when his body hit the water. Krumm ignored the weakly flailing arms and legs and pushed him under with a large stick, then set the timer. Scalding kills germs, aids hair removal, and hardens the subcutaneous fat. 

Emily Norton shuddered and looked away. She wore her jump suit and a hood protected her short brown hair. She wished she had something to protect her from what her eyes saw. Today was nowhere near as difficult as her first days on the job. Even looking away, she saw Ghorek’s hard steel parting soft, yielding flesh in her mind’s eye. She had seen him do it many times before. She looked down and the floor was already filthy. By late afternoon, it would be slick with blood. She wondered just how she had gotten herself into this situation. 

She was an enthusiastic member of PET’M, People for the Ethical Treatment of Males, and somehow she found herself working in a slaughterhouse of all places – as the PET’M representative. Her position had been very hard to fill. Few women were willing to work on the killing floor, knee deep in gore - despite the generous pay and bonuses. Her months counted double toward her national service and the entry would enhance her resume - proving her loyalty to the new order. She wondered how they had gotten by in the old days. Clutching her clipboard like a toddler’s security blanket, she watched as the bestial Drughars systematically slaughtered her ‘brothers,’ one after the next. Her presence assured that all the ‘humane’ rules and guidelines were meticulously observed. The large, brawny Drughars tossed the freshly slaughtered males into the scalding tanks with the ease of young girls playing with their dolls and fished them out again, their thick, horny skin unaffected by the intense heat. The steaming water, fouled by blood and excrement, smelled of chlorine. Te newer abattoirs used steam to avoid the taint of bleach. Her lunch break was coming and she just had to hang on for a few minutes more. She looked forward to her chance to sit down over lunch and chat with her friends, Megan, Ava, and Olivia.

Krumm grabbed the boy in the tank by the hair and yanked free a fistful. Scalding had done its job. The heat made little impression on tough Drughar skin. Krumm grabbed an ear and pulled the carcass from the steaming water effortlessly. The scalded skin glowed a pale pink as Krumm dumped the body into a bloody chilling tank and went to retrieve Ghorek’s next male. 

Pishtu lifted the naked body from the chilling tank and carried him to his workstation right beside where Emily stood. He pulled out one handful of dark hair already loosened by the scalding tank and tossed it onto the filthy floor, then straightened the head. Sightless, unblinking eyes stared up at him from the table. One blow from his heavy cleaver cleanly severed the head. With one hand, he easily lifted the headless carcass with one, slipped the meat hook behind an Achilles tendon and hung the body by one leg for Uruk. 

Pishtu turned his attention to the head and set about reserving the cheek meat. Some accounted the tongue and underdeveloped male brain delicacies. The ears would be set aside and dried for pet food. Little was wasted.

Uruk was an artist with a knife. Headless, the body hardly resembled anything human and Emily could watch the proceedings now with less distress. The boy hung motionless, his male parts lay nakedly exposed and vulnerable.

Uruk saw her watching and treated Emily to what passed for a wink among the Drughar. They really weren’t unpleasant beings once you got to know them, Emily admitted. Uruk took a deep breath. He separated the youth’s buttocks, muscular for a human male and with his large hands, cut a deep circle around the anus and tied off the bowels. More deftly, he severed the ball sac and tossed it into a refrigerated vat of brine. Next, he tented the skin over the pubis. On the first try, his hand came away with a pinch of pubic hair. He tried again and succeeded. He made a long incision from pubis to breast bone then reversed his heavy Janey knife and sawed through the cartilage between breast bone and ribs. He crouched down, reached in, and tied off the esophagus and windpipe. Uruk stood and took a step back. He cut a circle around the penis. Methodically, he freed up the inner organs and pushed the penis and bowel into the pelvis to eviscerate the carcass en bloc. 

\Uruk pushed the gutted carcass down the line for flaying. Emek could skin a boy with the effortless efficiency of a mother wrestling a toddler out of her snowsuit. Prompt skinning removed the sweat glands and rapid cooling best preserved the quality of the meat. Next, the skinned carcass would be halved and the halved carcass hung in the cooler until rigor mortis passed and the meat stretched on the bone. 

In the brief time that passed, Ghorek had dutifully slaughtered another four males. Krumm had scalded three, Pishtu had decapitated two, and Uruk was already gutting his next carcass.

The siren sounded for lunch. 


	4. Chapter 4

Emily looked at her watch – time for lunch. She was eager to leave the killing floor, shed her grubby jump suit, wash up, and see her friends. Megan was the PET’M representative in the receiving area where the males were collected from their trucks. Ava worked in data processing and Olivia worked at a desk at in shipping.

Emily shed her jumpsuit and washed her hands and face. She pulled a new clean jumpsuit from the rack and threw the old one in the laundry bin. She briefly checked her hair and make-up. Feeling somewhat refreshed she ventured into the lunchroom.

She waved as she passed Ghorek, Krumm, Pishtu, and Uruk sitting at their table, talking and laughing in their deep, rumbling Drughar voices. Their large plates were piled high with food.. Somehow they found time to eat despite their lively conversation. As might be expected from their size, the Drughars ate huge quantities of food and their table manners were other than refined. They looked so ordinary sitting there that Emily found it hard to believe that there had actually been a time before the first scout ships had brought the Drughar refugees to Earth. Emily tried to imagine the Earth before the first scout ships brought the Drughar refugees. The good-natured Drughar had gladly taken all of undesirable, unpleasant jobs that no woman wanted.

Emily spotted Olivia, Ava, and Megan and sat down with her friends. What’re we having today?” she asked.

“Hommeburgers or authentic cowboy chili,” Megan answered, looking up from her bowl of chili with cheddar cheese, oyster crackers, and jalapeños.

“Made from real cowboys,” Olivia added with a smile.

Emily looked at Olivia, She was so fashionable and so meticulously groomed. Some day Emily hoped to have the opportunity to wear nice clothes to work too. “Hey, are those boots new?” she asked.

“Like em?” Olivia grinned, pleased to the invitation to stretch out her long legs for display. “Look at the leather – soft and supple.”

“Hey, these hommeburgers are great!” Ava chomped away and Emily stood up to get herself a burger.

“Anyone want anything,” she called from the buffet. The buffet had hommeburgers and cowboy chili. More than half was given over to the bland greens that the vegetarian Drughars devoured in huge quantities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We do not hate the animals that give their lives for our lives for our table.  
> We shut our minds to any connection between cellophane-wrapped chops and roasts and living, suffering creatures.  
> The flesh of cute calves and lambs is prized by many.  
> Abattoir work is low pay and low prestige.  
> The women of Earth were eager to give it over the the vegetarian Drguhar.


End file.
